


Madmen

by bunyedes (SeaCollides)



Category: New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alternate Universe, Dialogue Heavy, Don't Examine This Too Closely, Fucked Up, Gen, Pre-Game Personalities (New Dangan Ronpa V3), Prompt Fill, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-22
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:41:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27669022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeaCollides/pseuds/bunyedes
Summary: The next season is beginning in 3... 2..."One."Shuichi smiles. "Welcome to the livestream! Let's begin with our first victim."The camera tilts, and the world falls over.-In which everyone is immoral, unrealistic, and pre-game could have never been weirder.
Relationships: Harukawa Maki & Oma Kokichi
Comments: 14
Kudos: 29





	1. Improperly Stabbed - S.Shuichi

**Author's Note:**

> Don't read this if you're sensitive, easily triggered, afraid of gore, cannibalism, murder, you know the usual. Summary is a dramatized version of Chapter 6.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shuichi doesn't like using knives, but they're handy as hell.

Shuichi reaches for the silver cleaver's handle. 

The smooth, wooden texture isn't familiar by any means. Though, it's comforting enough to leave a heavy reminder imprinted on his palm: he's a murderer.

Not that he cares, to be very frank. 

The air stinks of rotten carcasses. Like meat, like bone, like compressed fat and juices oozing coagulated blood days past their expiration date.

Shuichi laughs at the pun- expiration, because they're dead. How funny, he thinks. It warms his cold heart. His most certainly _d_ _ead_ heart.

He grips the cleaver with intense smolder burning behind his eyes. The nondescript body lying below him is just another faceless victim amongst the countless others he's killed. It'll be better to pay the person no respects, no honorary mourning before Shuichi slams the blade in without any remorse.

Shuichi's not a cannibal- there's no need to make some nicely sliced cuts to eat for dinner. That's for another friend. Despite it all, it doesn't mean Shuichi's sane. 

So, like a madman, he brings the cleaver up and plunges it in- straight into the leg. 

The man's thigh is quite fat, and it takes a while for Shuichi to fully dig the blade in. The fleshy texture of bulbous meat and stringy tendons is warm and wet beneath Shuichi's fingers, now coated and smeared with a vivid shade of scarlet. He lifts the blade up again and brings it back down with unrelenting vigour, not strong enough to sever it directly in half. 

A sick noise rips through the air. It isn't audible to Shuichi, though- he's too busy improperly cutting up the leg of his victim. He leaves the upper body alone. (Someone special will want it, Shuichi decides. He'll be a nice person, just this once.)

Pent-up frustration leaks into the cleaver's edge as he hacks, hacks, and hacks away with murderous intent boiling under his skin, finally bubbling to the surface to bare its teeth at the mess of knife wounds scattered all over the victim's skin. Red. That's all Shuichi sees, both literally and metaphorically.

Faceless victims, in Shuichi's eyes, don't deserve mercy. 

_Slice. Slice. Slice._

Faceless victims, in Shuichi's eyes, are boring, stupid, and ridiculously gullible to a innocent seventeen-almost-eighteen year old.

He'll eliminate all these faceless nobodies before he's taken away to join Danganronpa. To where no one is a blank slate of repeated notions, where everyone lives by the kill-or-be-killed code of order.

Danganronpa, to Shuichi, is the ultimate good. Nothing can triumph it. A twisted little playground for twisted little people. 

He continues getting blood all over his hands. 

Shuichi is a madman, Shuichi is not sane. But since he isn't a cannibal...

He stands up, stops, and wipes away the blood on the cleaver via the victim's jacket. Reaching into his pocket, Shuichi dials the number he's come to label as his clean-up crew.

"Rantaro Amami speaking," is the voice from the other line. Shuichi smiles casually, the skin near his eyes pulling upwards with the sincerity of a child. 

"Amami-kun," he says, lightly kicking the dead body's lolling, featureless head. "You've got dinner tonight."

Shuichi can't see Rantaro's face, but he's willing to bet he's grinning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bunyedes speaking!
> 
> Anyway! *Rubs hands* Welcome to PG-20, the really weird prompt-fill slash PG Universe Expansion Pack slash What The Fuck Is Author Doing fic. There will be death, both uncommon and common headcanons for the PG-verse, and lots of people getting cooked, stabbed, beaten to death... 
> 
> Uh... it's not as bad as it sounds, I swear. Each chapter is around 500-1500 words centering around one prompt, and it follows the previous chapter like an actual story. This AU's not going to fully fleshed out in Madmen, I'll be making separate works focusing on the AU after I'm done with Madmen specifically.
> 
> This pseud is actually just a carrier for all things PG-20. It actually stands for both parental guidance 20 and Pre-Game Twenty as there are 20 prompts on my list to be ticked off! 
> 
> The reason why this exists? Well, I just failed goretober and I'm trying to compensate. Sorry for making this horrible thing.


	2. Grilling - A.Rantaro

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rantaro gets his dinner delivery.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Cannibalism

Rantaro doesn't know why or how he's gotten into this mess. 

Walking down a street, if you gave Rantaro the time of the day to spare him a brief glance, you'd notice three things about him:

One, he's handsome. 

Two, he wears a lot of accessories.

Three, he's probably- no, most _definitely_ rich. 

Rantaro has never been interested in upholding his father's business, and he's not going to do so anytime soon. Danganronpa 53 is swinging by the neighbourhood- he's going to go back for another rush of survival adrenaline.

Really, Rantaro's more into in pursuing the finer things in life, like skydiving, climbing a dangerous mountain, swimming in an ice-cold lake- the list goes on and on. If given the choice, if he were to describe himself in three words, they would be _overly-curious_ , _brave_ , and _adventurous_.

All those words are partly the reason why he's roasting a finely-cut rack of human ribs over a backyard barbecue grill, his eyes glassy and mouth watering.

Rantaro really doesn't want to call himself a cannibal. He likes to think of himself as Shuichi's self-proclaimed clean-up crew. The only people who knows of his 'hobby' are the people who _should_ know about it- Rantaro can send Shuichi after whoever that's not supposed to, afterall. It feels good to have a mini hitman working for him. Or maybe the hitman's just mooching after him, because Shuichi sure as hell needs a lot of money for his nightly activities.

The only reason he's into... ah, _cannibalism,_ is due to the undying, gripping curiosity setting his veins on fire that only stopped until he took his first stab into a cut. It wasn't the cleanest- in fact, it looked quite disgusting- but Rantaro's gotten better with a knife. He cooks much better now, too. 

"Amami-kun," Shuichi suddenly drawls, who's speaking through the burner phone lying on a plastic picnic table. "When will you invite me over to your house? For a playdate."

"Never," Rantaro quips, angling the ribs to nudge it closer to the fire. "You're crazy."

"But you love me for it, right?"

"I don't, Saihara. Be quiet or I'll hang up on you."

"Rude," is all Shuichi huffs, and the burner phone goes silent.

"He actually hung up," is Rantaro's incredulous reply to the now-voiceless air accompanied by the sizzling of grease. 

A repeated set of doorbell rings knocks Rantaro out of his trance. Crossing his backyard and heading to the front door, Rantaro peers through the peephole with a foreboding sense of unease settling in his stomach.

He opens the door to greet Shuichi Saihara, who's laughing as he shoves himself into Rantaro's house.

"How did you find my fucking address? And how did you get here so fast?" Rantaro scowls in disbelief. Shuichi nonchalantly shrugs, saying, "I have my ways." 

He then disappears into the backyard, where Rantaro's still grilling a rack of human ribs.

Rantaro calls out, "If you touch them, I'll kill you."

Shuichi doesn't say anything back. Rantaro goes to check up on his dinner- nothing's changed, but Shuichi's now sitting on the picnic table with his feet on the tabletop, mindlessly tapping at his phone. 

"Get your filthy feet off the table."

Shuichi doesn't budge, and instead he shows Rantaro a picture of Kaede and Kaito posing in front of the camera as they cheerfully stand over a sobbing girl. She's crying on the ground, completely beaten and bloody with her head implanted into the wet dirt, her pale face a page of blue and black.

"Check this out," Shuichi numbly says, bringing out a packet of bubble gum to chew on. He pops two pellets into his mouth, the air surrounding him now smelling like the sickly scent of artificial watermelons.

Rantaro takes hold of Shuichi's phone before heading back to the grill. "Ew," he grumbles, wincing at the sight. "Who's that? The girl on the floor."

"Harukawa Maki," Shuichi yawns, waving an indifferent hand. "Transfer student. She's shy, resilient, emotional, and defenseless... typical bully food. Tch." He blows the gum into a reddish bubble before sucking it back in, smacking his lips. "I don't bother with her. Akamatsu-san and Momota-kun can have their fun."

"You don't bully anyone," Rantaro says as he lifts the cooked rack of ribs up and onto a large plate. "At least, I don't think you do."

"I don't," Shuichi responds, getting out of his seat to steal the phone back from Rantaro's grip. "It's pointless. Stupid, even."

"Then why are you friends with those goons?" Rantaro questions, handing the phone back. He sets the plate down and grabs a steak knife.

Shuichi returns to the picnic table. "I never said I was friends with them. They're good for nothing pigs that'll join me in Danganronpa, that's all."

Rantaro looks up rapidly. "You're joining the newest season?" he asks, smiling. "Because I am too. Hope to see you die."

"Not survive?" Shuichi laments, blowing another bubble. "You're so cruel, Amami-kun."

"You'd prefer to get executed anyway, don't lie," Rantaro laughs. Shuichi snorts, but doesn't protest. 

Rantaro's finished with cutting up the ribs, so he shoves a slice into his mouth, starving. He hums at the familiar explosion of taste on his tongue, accompanied by a special blend of sauce he's invented after much trial and error.

"How does it taste like?" Shuichi queries from across the lawn. 

"This guy's not as good. The teenage girl from last time is still the best you've offered me."

"Such a creep," Shuichi teases. Rantaro shovels another rib into his mouth, using his canines to yank off the coat of meat wrapping itself around the bone. 

"Says the one who killed four people for fun," is Rantaro's quick retort. Shuichi blows yet another bubble, pops it, and admits, "Well, you got me!"

With that, Shuichi rises from his uncomfortable seat. He strolls past Rantaro and invites himself out of the house. 

"Well, I'm gonna eat something too! Bye-bye!" Shuichi trills before slamming the front door shut. Rantaro flips him a middle finger. (Shuichi doesn't see it, of course. If he did, Rantaro will never sleep peacefully again for the rest of his miserable life.)

He runs a hand through his ruffled hair. "Fucking hell, Saihara," he rasps, eyeing the wad of watermelon gum stuck on top of the picnic table. 

"At least stay for dinner."


	3. Glass - H.Maki

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A showtime is not a showtime without the circus ringleader.
> 
> A few new characters join the spotlight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Bullying, Vaping, Physical Attacking

"Harukawa-san, your notes."

Maki shakily takes the neatly-stacked papers with trembling hands. She looks up at Miu- who's grinding down on some hard candy between her teeth, carefully surveying her surroundings for the well-known pack of bullies.

"Thank you, class president." Maki can't bear to look at anyone at the moment. She's sure there's a bloody bruise forming on the side of her cheek. Miu slaps a hand over her back, smiling lightly as she gives Maki a wide-toothed grin.

"It's alright. I can't have a classmate failing, y'know? And no need for formalities, Iruma is fine."

"Then... I'll be going, Iruma-san."

Maki bolts away, gripping the notebook pages tightly between her fingers. Once she's far Miu, she hides under a towering tree casting large shadows across the brick ground belonging to the desolate public park.

The sky is slowly rippling into a pretty shade of orange and yellow, the golden sun sinking down to greet the mountain cradles bundled up in green. Maki stuffs the notes into her bag, hoping no one will notice her already diminished presence.

And of course, her wish doesn't come true.

"Oh, look! It's Harukawa!"

Maki flinches. She unconsciously places a ginger hand over the unsightly injury blossoming near her mouth. Kaito Momota, tormentor of this school, sizes up on Maki and shoves her down. She hits the bricks and her dusty uniform scrapes harshly against the rough surface, barely saving her from another scar. At least only two of the group are present.

"Maki Roll, don't be so cruel to me! Say hi to a good friend, won't ya?"

"Don't call me that!"

Kaito makes a face. "You're still like this? Come on, what's wrong with a cute pet name for my little Maki Roll, _huh_?"

Maki clenches her eyes shut. "Stop it," she grits out, trying to get back on her feet. Kaede Akamatsu- Kaito's second-in-command, snorts loudly as she casually inspects her perfectly manicured nails.

"Sorry, Harukawa," Kaede insincerely apologizes before socking her in the stomach.

Maki stumbles down again, feeling the acidic burn of bile rising up her throat. She groans in pain as the blonde student leans down to continue her assault. Maki retaliates- she grabs a fistful of Kaede's bangs and yanks away the assortment of clips strewn across her hairline, causing the bully to cry out in disbelief and anger.

"Why, you-"

Kaede forcefully slams her foot against Maki's side, hissing out a long-winded curse at said girl and her ancestors. Kaito jeers at her in the background.

"You sure are fiesty today," Kaito laughs, sauntering over to grab her by the collar. He presses his nicotine-stained teeth close to her face. "Did something good happen?"

Maki turns her head away from Kaito, trying to look for an escape. Her eyes affix themselves to the empty glass bottle of beer lying beneath the park bench inches from her hands. _Oh,_ she thinks. _A bottle. A glass bottle._

Maki doesn't hesitate. She grabs it, smashes it against the ground, and plunges it into Kaito's cheek.

It all happens in a matter of seconds. When Maki comes to her senses, her feet is already slamming against the pavement as she flees from scene, hair flying behind her.

She can still hear Kaito's enraged yelling thrumming through her ears. She picks up the pace, stumbling over her own shoes, leaping past the cracks embedded into the concrete road.

Blood. She sees Kaito's blood, warm against her fingers. For once, it's not her own.

Glass. She sees the glittering pieces of crystal, bottle-green and reflective. Maki's never thought of them as deadly. Now she knows better.

They mix far too well. In her vision, both of them compliment each other like yin and yang- because Kaito deserves everything that life throws at him. He's a monster. 

When Maki deems herself far enough from Kaito and Kaede, she drops onto an empty sidewalk, gasping for breath. Closing her eyes, she lets out a choked sob, hands shooting up to grab at her tangled hair.

She cries. Silent tears roll down her face as she sobs her heart out, the front of her uniform getting stained by fat droplets of salty water pouring down like a leaky faucet. _Life isn't worth it. Life isn't worth it._

She can hear the sound of footfalls approaching her. It's not Kaito's, nor is it Kaede's. Maki ignores it.

A chillingly blunt voice cuts through the air like razors against her skin. "Damn. What a pathetic sight."

Maki intakes a shuddering breath, struggling to form a coherent sentence as she looks at the intruder, her face a blurry mess of tears swimming near her lashes. Maki sees dark clothes, black hair, and light-up shoes paired with an oddly checkered scarf looped around a thin neck.

The raven-haired man gives her a condescending eyebrow-raise as he lolls a nearly-finished lollipop in-between his mouth. He takes it out with a wet pop.

"Loser," he snorts. "Who hurt you?"

Maki tries to speak, but only a broken heave comes out. The man sighs and crunches down on the remainders of his candy.

"Kaito?" he asks, tossing the white Chupa Chups stick over his shoulder. "Figures. It's always him."

The strange man reaches into his pocket, bringing out a strawberry-flavoured tin of gum. "I hate that guy." He mindlessly tosses it onto Maki's lap. "So, have this."

As Maki sniffles violently and fumbles to accept the so-called gift, the intruder reaches into his other pocket for an e-cigarette. He takes a long drag from the lithe device before exhaling a cloud of grape-flavoured smoke.

"If you need me, check the tin." He then leaves her alone, walking away in those horrible light-up Sketchers of his.

At home, when Maki pours out all the gum pellets, she finds a folded note scrawled with a phone number tucked into the bottom of the canister.

_Ouma Kokichi._

She decides to give him a call.


	4. Taxidermy - O.Kokichi

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ouma's hobby is a little frightening, especially to the gullible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Physical Attack, Taxidermy Mention
> 
> Important: A brief time-skip has occurred. Maki and Kokichi are now pseudo-friends. In no way do I think taxidermy is wrong (as I'm a fan myself), but Maki has been, well, raised under a rock...

"My dear Harukawa-chan," Kokichi sweetly slurs into his cellphone, "shut the fuck up. It's two o'clock. I'm tired."

Maki's strained voice pants at him from the other line. "Ouma, let me come over. _Please_."

Kokichi yawns and stretches, popping a few stiff joints. "Someone's chasing you? Sucks that you're out at _two AM in the morning,_ loser. Bye-bye."

" _Please,_ Ouma-"

"Get the fuck over in ten minutes or I'm not letting you in."

Kokichi promptly hangs up. Maki- good ol' Maki- arrives right before Kokichi decides to permanently lock the door, her hair a completely frazzled mess. He gives her a brief once-over before shutting the door with a bang.

"Sweetheart, you look awful."

"Don't call me that," Maki grumps.

"Okay, honey-buns."

Maki takes off her shoes before dropping onto a musty couch, beads of sweat sliding down her forehead. Kokichi reaches for the aircon remote on his redwood coffee table and slaps it aggressively, trying to turn on the old machine. The air conditioner quivers and groans before whirring to life, pungent stale air blowing from its dusty grafts.

Maki wrinkles her nose. "It smells... pretty awful."

"I haven't used it for nearly a year. Of course it smells bad!" Kokichi sighs, throwing the remote into some inconspicuous corner. It lands on a potted plant with withering leaves about as tall as Kokichi himself.

Loud knocking suddenly resonates through the decrepit house, accompanied by some muted scuffling. Something rattles hostilely against Kokichi's door knob, the door itself nearly getting shaken off its hinges. As the owner of the horribly-kept estate peers out of a curtain-drawn window, he sees the hulking shadow of three burly men swarming his porch, their faces fierce and weathered.

"OPEN UP!"

Kokichi quietly shuts the curtains. He turns to face Maki and whispers, "Harukawa, you absolute moron."

Maki winces. "I- I thought I lost them!"

"Does it look like you did?" Kokichi hisses in reply before smoothing down his pajamas. "Go hide in a room. Don't come out at any cost, run if you hear something suspicious."

Maki darts away, and Kokichi swings open the front door to greet his guests, purposely ruffling up his hair to make it look like he's just rolled out of bed.

"Hello, fine gentlemen. Fancy a cup of tea at..." Kokichi pauses to turn around and squint at the clock hanging atop his barren fireplace. "A wonderful two twenty-one in the morning?"

"Give us the girl," Brute One growls. Kokichi presses an innocent finger to his lips. _I need to apply lip balm,_ he chides to himself.

"Girl?" he echoes. "I don't know any. But I do know a shitstain that goes by the name of Akamatsu Kaede, I'm sure you can chase her down and beat her up for me-"

"Cut the crap, kiddo. Let us in before we smash your little face into the floor." Brute Two cracks his knuckles. Kokichi doesn't flinch, giving him the world's most tender smile.

"Does our boss know about this?"

The three goons stand stock-still, eyes widening with fear. "What-"

"I don't think he'll appreciate his lackeys going after random girls. I would know- I'm his nephew. Heard of me, right?"

The lie slips off Kokichi's tongue like liquid butter. It poisons everything around him, sweetly-sickening honey worms digging into every listener's ears. Kokichi opens his syrupy mouth.

"I can tell him about your misconduct right this second."

The three aggressors slowly back away from Kokichi, whose face is as cold as the dust-stained air conditioner now sending icy gusts of wind rolling through the corridors.

"Leave."

They scramble away without a second thought, tails tucked between their legs.

Kokichi, for the second time that day, slams the door shut. He locks it with an irritatable tug.

"You're safe, Harukawa! Where are you?"

No response. Kokichi grumbles and tries to find the girl.

"Harukawa?"

He stops dead in his tracks when he spies the door to his 'private collection' ajar, creaking with oppressive ominousity.

"...Are you in there?" Kokichi questions, voice low. Once again, he receives no reply. Kokichi decidedly steps into the room, surveying the area for one Maki Harukawa.

Nothing. All the animals, skulls, and skeleton corpses are in their places, completely untouched.

"Oh, good." Kokichi breathes a sigh of relief.

He then feels the metal chill of a razor pressed against his throat. An unyielding arm wraps itself around Kokichi's front.

" _What the hell do you do in your pastime_?"

Kokichi struggles to glare at his attacker. Maki's eyes were terrified, almost akin to a cornered animal. She starts, "This is-"

"-taxidermy," Kokichi coughs out, scrabbling to unhand Maki's python grip around his chest. "It's not murder-"

"You don't skin a human for their bones!"

"I didn't _kill_ any of them! And I'm talking about the animals!"

"It's... it's definitely illegal!" Maki splutters, eyes still bulging with horror. "I- those skeletons, a-and the animals-"

"Why are you worried about _that_?" Kokichi bites out, spitefully glowering at Maki. He finally manages to untangle himself from her arms, immediately reaching out to close the room's door. "Animals are animals- sewing them into something else is interesting, and it's not illegal! There, you happy?"

"S-so, the rat with deer horns-"

"-and a snake tail? It's called rogue taxidermy," Kokichi snarls, checking his neck and chest for any wounds.

"But the human skull and bones-"

" _Anonymous_ donor," Kokichi states, clearly not accepting anymore questions. "I never kill. Not unless I have to." The last sentence is a whisper.

Maki visibly calms down after that, her shoulders untensing. She silently pockets the razor, muttering a, "I'm keeping this."

Kokichi huffs. "No apology?"

"But I didn't injure you."

"Who says so?" Kokichi snarks, but he knows Maki is right. "Apologize."

"I'm sorry..."

"More sincerely, please."

Maki drops down onto the ground and begs for forgiveness. Kokichi, dumbfounded, quickly ushers her to stand up. "I was joking," he grimaces, face full of worry. "Exactly what environment raised you to be like this?"

Maki wordlessly shakes her head.

 _Despite it all, you're resilient,_ Kokichi notes to himself. _That's an admirable trait._

"And, Ouma?" Maki begins, nervously fiddling the hems of her outfit. "How did you get those guys to leave?"

Kokichi shrugs. "They were obviously from a gang- probably low-level members based on how they talked, and they don't know much about their boss. Just had to pray for the best and lie. It's that simple, really."

"Lie?" Maki prompts, cocking her head.

"Lie," Kokichi confirms. "I can teach you how to do that... if you want, of course. It might save your neck one day."

Maki stares at him, stunned. "You would?"

"Why not? Let's start with physical lies," Kokichi grins. "For example, how to hide an instinct, a habit, or let's say... murderous intent."

The room grows cold, but it's not because of the aircon.

Maki shivers at Kokichi's tone, but smiles at his attitude.


	5. Art - Y.Angie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An artist is added to the potluck of instability.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Descriptions of Disturbing Art, Implied Animal Hunting, Near-Obsessive Belief

Angie sighs softly as she dips her paintbrush into a pot of burgundy paint, slowly dotting little swathes of red across her completely blank canvas. As she mindlessly slides a particularly large stroke across the ebony-white surface, she hears the repeated sounds of sharp knocking against her front door. A small but tired smile lifts the corners of her mouth. She places down the paintbrush.

"Ouma?" she calls out, and a loud, "Yep!" is the response she receives. Right on time, then. Angie pads over to her door and swings it open, her shadowed eyes brightening ever so slightly upon seeing the shorter man impatiently tapping his foot on her welcome mat. 

"I thought you'd never visit," she dryly chuckles, "but Atua has told me-"

"Yeah, yeah, I don't care about that guy." Kokichi gives Angie an awkward hug. "I have someone with me today, mind keeping her entertained?"

"As you invade my backyard?" Angie grumbles, but she glances over Kokichi's shoulder to take a look at her newest guest. "Who is she?"

The girl tenses up and straightens her back. "M-my name's Maki Harukawa-"

"-and she's a cute little sweetheart who would love to chat with you," Kokichi quickly interrupts, laughing. "Isn't that right, Harukawa-chan?"

"U-uh?"

Angie ignores Maki's side glare at Kokichi's direction, instead choosing to clasp the brunette's hands within her own. Maki's warm body temperature is a stark contrast against Angie's nearly-frozen hands. The artist imagines the interaction as bright buckets of lapis being flung across a cherry-red wall, splattering flecks of blue everywhere. Maki simply jolts.

"Nice to meet you," Angie greets, leading Maki inside. Ouma is already grabbing a shotgun, preparing to enter the forest behind Angie's house. Maki curiously trails her gaze over to his direction, stopping to look back at Angie only when Ouma swings a faraway door open and leaves. 

"Do you have any problems with disturbing imagery?"

Maki jumps at Angie's sudden question. She carefully shakes her head. "I don't, why?"

"Nothing. I think some would find my paintings unsettling."

Maki tilts her head. "Pai- oh."

Angie follows Maki's line of sight. She awkwardly scratches the back of her head upon seeing what Maki is staring at, mouth agape. 

"I did that in the middle of night. Atua struck me with inspiration, and once I came to, I found this piece in my hands."

Maki approaches the canvas. "It's... gruesome."

There's a pure-white horse whinnying over the fallen bodies of withered soldiers, some of their carcasses fully rotten. On closer inspection, the horse carried three eyes, one embedded in the middle of its forehead, burning as bright as the blood moon. A lonesome figure- their body a mish-mash of limbs and muscles- hangs in the darkened sky, overseeing the mass carnage. 

"It's Atua," Angie hums, pointing at the strange figure. "He appears as your worst fears, your resentments, your billowing regrets. But if you look past it all, he becomes humanity broken down into their barest bones: our flimsy appendages stuck together to form a walking, talking person."

Maki nods solemnly, not daring to interrupt. "Is he your god?" she decides to ask in the end. "Belief?"

"None of those," Angie murmurs, tracing a finger over the dried acrylic paint. "He is my savior, and I am simply transplanting his wills onto my own. I am Atua, and at the same time, I am not."

"I don't quite get it."

"You don't have to," Angie laughs. Her grin falls quite quickly. 

"Do you... want to do anything in particular?" Angie queries, not sure where to start. Maki shrugs half-heartedly. They fall into an awkward silence. 

After a while, Maki decides to speak up. ”Er, Ouma mentioned having someone who helps him mount his animals- is that you?" she coughs, trying to break the tense air. Angie forms an 'o' with her mouth and claps her hands together. 

"He did?" she gasps, much more enthusiastic than before. "Harukawa! Would you like to learn or start collecting taxidermied animals? Bugs, maybe? Though I believe I'm much better at mammals-"

Maki slaps a hand over Angie's shoulder. "Calm down! I don't think I want to start collecting dead animals just yet..."

Angie sighs, but it's not out of sheer disappointment. "Hmm... woodcraft, then?" Angie provides, snapping her fingers. "Wooden sculptures."

Maki contemplates that. "You make wooden sculptures?"

"Sure do. Atua loves all art forms. They are perceptions of the world in poetic visions- how we see this wretched land and its wretched inhabitants."

"You think humanity is scum," Maki comments. Angie waves a dismissive hand. 

"I don't. That's for another friend of mine. I think humanity is best represented in art, and Atua is guiding me through that path. Some things," she smiles, "are best represented in drawings. Because once put onto paper as words or even brought into real life, it becomes less formidable. Less space for creativity."

Maki decides that the white-haired enigma standing before her truly has some wisdom to share about her hobby. 

"So, you devote your life to two things? Art and... your savior? Atua?"

"Precisely! But don't think I did it since birth," Angie replies, and her eyes grow dark again. "In the past, everything was dull- before I became a devotee, I mean. I don't think I had an interest in living. No color. Nothing except for smog in my vision."

"And Atua helped?"

"No, art did. I only discovered Atua through art. Manually coloring my life took a while, and the paint scratches out easily. But it was worth it in the end- I am a much better version of myself compared to the past."

Angie's grin is radiant. "I hope you understand this, Harukawa. Art is my passion, Atua is my very life. Without any of them, I become no one. Yonaga Angie will cease to exist."

Maki opens her mouth, readying her reply. The backdoor chooses that exact moment to slam open.

Kokichi waltzes in, carrying a dead squirrel within his hands. He shoots Angie and Maki a curious glance. 

"Harukawa-chan? Making friends? Am I hallucinating?" he jokes, disbelieved. "Oh, whatever. But guess who I found trying to break into your house!" 

Kokichi re-opens the door and grabs for some ropes strewn on the ground. As he tugs them in, it comes to Angie's senses that those ropes are binding someone. 

That someone being a very ruffled-looking Saihara Shuichi.

Angie is going to throw a carving knife straight through his head.


	6. Grisly - S.Shuichi, H.Maki

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Would you like it if I dirtied and bloodied your pristinely white hands?_
> 
> Shuichi takes Maki on a hunting trip, and introduces the criminal world of live-streaming gore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Animal Murder, Blood and Gore, Implied Zoosadism. 
> 
> In-depth description of a cut-up deer is there for a few moments, but is glossed over a lot for the sake of the reader's sanity.
> 
> Important: The in-story depictions of deer hunting is unrealistic (and kind-of illegal), just like the majority of this fic and how the geographical location is also completely fucked. Also, Ouma and Saihara share quite a dysfunctional relationship.

Maki stares at the intruder. He stares back.

Angie's quiet sigh breaks the temporary bout of silence. "I thought I told you to never step foot into this house again," she grumbles with hidden venom around her words. Shuichi blinks at her owlishly, mock innocence nestling itself inside the masses of his medallion eyes as he waves at her with a grin on his face.

"Yonaga-san," he greets, and Maki is stunned wordless. 

"You..." she starts, and the three occupants in the room all look at her. "You all know each other?"

"We're familiar," Angie curtly says, and she shoots daggers at Shuichi's direction. "Unfortunately, that is."

"Aw, don't be so rude to poor ol' Saihara-chan!" Kokichi sighs, stomping down on Shuichi's foot. The navy-haired man yelps. "See, I _coincidentally_ found him in your backyard, snooping around like some sort of creep! But that's what he is, anyway. Aren't you, Saihara?" Kokichi cooes in an almost-affectionate tone. Shuichi says nothing in reply, opting to blow an exaggerated raspberry at Kokichi, who, in turn, sticks his tongue out as an act of self-defense.

Maki simply gapes at the curious exchange between the two. "You're friends?"

"Yes," Shuichi says right as Kokichi replies with, "No." They both turn to look at each other with raised eyebrows. 

"I'm not even going to inquire," Maki mumbles to herself, and her feet shuffles to point at the front door. "I think I'm going to lea-"

Shuichi pipes up, "Harukawa Maki, was it?"

Maki tenses as a simmering feeling of unease layers itself over her insides. _I haven't introduced myself_ , she realizes, panic starting to build in her chest. Breathing in a bit too harshly, she turns back to face Shuichi, who's giving her a 'oh, woe is me!' sort-of expression as Kokichi idly runs a hand through his hair, muttering something unintelligible beneath his breath. 

"I actually came here to find you," Shuichi says. "I've been watching you for a while." 

An icy talon slides down her spine. "Watching me?"

"Ah, should've phrased that better. Nothing sexual, I promise. You're not my type," he adds at the end. "This watching is for something a little different. Elusive, even."

"He means murder," Kokichi chimes in, and Shuichi shoots him a scandalized glance.

"What?" Kokichi shrugs in response. "She deserves to know the truth. Harukawa isn't the type to listen to you waxing poetics."

"M-murder?" Maki squeaks, and she quickly shakes her head. "No. No, I'm not- I'm never going to stab someone, much less kill!"

"That's a lie," Shuichi snorts, and Maki's almost surprised that it wasn't Kokichi who spoke. 

"I've heard about you stabbing Momota-kun in the cheek with a glass bottle. Nice touch, by the way- I hate that guy. _We_ hate that guy." Shuichi remarks, waving a hand. "Honestly, I've always thought you were this weak, defenseless girl... Originally, I never even wanted to bother with you. But now, I think we can be great friends," Shuichi continues, fully exposing his teeth as he smiles, canines glinting. "Let's go on a playdate, Harukawa-san. It'll be fun! I promise." 

Maki turns to look at Kokichi in hopes of receiving advice. The man offers a half-hearted shrug. 

"Once you're done with her, get out of my house," Angie mutters as she picks up a few stray pots of paint on the ground, moving to her easel. "I'll be painting. Have fun," she dully adds at the end, almost like she knows what will happen next. Maki is left in a semi-horrified state of mind as Kokichi unties Shuichi of his bindings. 

As Shuichi goes back into the backyard with his arms now full of an assortment of things (there's a camera-looking thing in his arms, how strange), Maki realizes something far too late. "Am I being forced into this?" she asks as she steps outside, standing next to the man. "Do I even have a say- nevermind. I don't, do I?"

"Nope," Shuichi laughs, popping the 'p'. "We're both in this together, don't worry. But I definitely want you to join me in the newest season of Danganronpa... if possible, of course."

"Dangan... what?" Maki asks, but Shuichi's already hurrying off into the trees. She jogs after him and takes a shotgun from his arms, helping him carrying the heavy load. 

"About that Dangan thing-"

"Danganronpa," Shuichi provides. "It's a show. One of the only good shows on this whole planet."

"What's it about?"

"Well... we'll have to get you desensitized to blood and gore first," Shuichi hums. "Then we can talk about details."

Maki huffs. "How can I participate in this show if you won't even give me a summary?"

"Shh. This little activity of ours will decide whether or not I should bribe Shirogane-san into letting you in," Shuichi whispers. "Now be quiet. We're approaching the trap I've set- if the deer Yonaga-san's released around a day ago is there... well, we're off to a lucky start."

"Released?" Maki replies in a hushed tone. "She bought a deer and placed it in her backyard?"

Shuichi giggles. "It was partly both my and Ouma-kun's doing, but yes, she's a little unhinged and prone to strange ideas. Just like we all are, yeah? If not, why would you be here with me?"

"I've been forced into this!" Maki whisper-shouts. Shuichi stifles another giggle before his face grows serious. He makes a 'shh' gesture- he places a finger over his lips- and uses another hand to point at a thin stream of water running in the distance.

"It's there," Shuichi says, grinning. "Maybe I should've auditioned as the Ultimate Luck."

Right near the banks of the stream is a delicate, non-fatal trap that can be set off by even the slightest of steps. Caught in the middle of it is a small-sized doe. Shuichi grabs a shotgun from Maki's forearms, unwinding the straps still slung around it. 

"Watch carefully," he excitedly says, and he skillfully takes aim.

A few beats of silence pass.

_BANG._

The deer falls in an instant with a shot embedded right above its shoulder, and Shuichi cheers in relief. He ushers Maki to follow him as they approach the fallen deer. 

"Now's the fun part," he breathes, sliding out a large knife and a strange mask from a bag around his waist. "Hold this for me, yeah?" 

Maki awkwardly grabs the camera-like contraption and inspects it. She jumps a little when she accidentally brushes a button, turning it on. A red light blinks at her. She blinks back. 

"Alright, point that camera at me!" Shuichi directs, and Maki does exactly that. Shuichi, wearing some surgical gloves and a weird black-and-white bear mask, fumbles to press a remote in his pockets. A faint notification-like 'ding!' sounds through the tense air.

" _Shumai is live,_ " Shuichi utters darkly into the cam, and Maki spots a mic clipped onto one of his shirt lapels. "Counting down till I show exactly what I have with me today... let's get some viewers rolling, hm?" 

Shuichi pulls out his phone from his pockets and hands it to Maki, mouthing, _read the chat for me._ Maki looks at the screen: a lone video player with a chatbox next to it stares back at her. The site in the searchbar shows an incorrigible string and assortment of numbers and letters linked together, ending with a nice and simple '.tv'. She turns her attention towards the chatbox. Only a few people are talking.  
  


[ANONYMOUS]: _shumai streaming?? birthday came early wtf_

[LXMINARY]: _can't wait to see what our king has killed this time, lol_

[M4J1CK]: _i think it's a zoo stream... he mentioned it last time_

[LXMINARY]: _lmao I wasn't there for his last stream. was busy  
  
_

Maki quietly reads the chat aloud. Shuichi nods along to her every words.

"Good to have you back, Luminary," Shuichi smiles. "And hello, Anon! Still too shy to choose a display name?"  
  


[ANONYMOUS]: _haha_ _. you know it's nothing like that._  
  


"Alright, whatever suits you," he replies with a nonchalant shrug. "Well, Magic's right: it _is_ an animal stream today." 

The truth slowly dawns on Maki. The knife. The need for a mask; the need for privacy. The dead deer in front of them.

 _Oh_ , she thinks. _He's live-streaming. He's..._

"Let's begin, shall we? In three... two..."

 _One,_ Maki answers in her mind. 

When Shuichi sinks his knife into the doe, she thinks her breathing stops. 

Whatever the case, Maki can only stare and point the camera at the increasingly bloody sight before her.

Shuichi doesn't care. He doesn't mind, almost like he's used to intestines pouring out of a stomach; the white and red flecks of bone and flesh, dappled by crimson; slit throats and sticky fat coating his gloved fingers... 

...She's going to throw up. Shuichi rips a chunk of _whatever_ that's currently in his palms- all gooey and chunky and a mass of miscut tissue- and he squashes it between his fingers, the sound squelching and popping like a horrible burst of gory balloons. 

All the way through, Maki's standing there with shaking knees, unable to look away. The camera keeps pointing at the corpse. She doesn't know _why_ or _how_ , but the way Shuichi smiles at the lenses like everything's going to be a-okay digs needles into her skin, broiling her stomach on a low but painful heat.

And when Shuichi's done mashing up the deer into one big, grisly pile, he does that same goddamned smile, one born out of pure malice. He tells Maki to turn off the camera. She does. 

"Well," Shuichi says as he peels off his gloves, "You handled that really well. I'm impressed, not just by your performance, but because my deductions were correct. You have a little monster in you somewhere."

Maki's mouth feels dry. "I've... I... I don't know," she finally answers. Her lungs feel weightless. Some air is still trapped in her throat. 

"Well, you've passed the test, assignment, whatever." Shuichi smirks. "Harukawa- I really, really hope to see you in Danganronpa- you know what? I'll send you the registration form tonight."

At home, Maki doesn't even question how Shuichi knows her number despite her never sharing it. Reading through the whole rundown of Danganronpa and their enormous waiver was a pain, but-

-she can't deny her interest.

Shuichi was right. Maybe a little monster _does_ live inside her somewhere. 

If her life isn't worth living with all these bullies, maybe she can give this show a shot.

A finger hovers over the form.

She clicks, knowing she might regret it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next: Filth - S.Korekiyo
> 
> (So sorry I died for 2 months straight. I'm falling out of DR right now but I promise to complete Madmen, no matter how grueling. It's a fun little series that I enjoy writing, so I won't be dropping it, don't fear. Next update might take some time, though, sorry!)


End file.
